


Lets

by dokidave



Series: 4/20 [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 01:57:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dokidave/pseuds/dokidave
Summary: obligatory annual crenny oneshot





	Lets

You blow smoke in his face and he laughs. That laugh, you love that laugh, but it never happens when he's sober.

"Cut it out man, you do that every time. If you want to get me higher, you might as well shotgun me."

You grin and he stops laughing, bites his lip. You know he was joking, but you're not. You're never joking, not when it comes to Craig Tucker at least.

He breaks eye contact and reaches for the bowl. You know he's thinking now so you hand it over without saying anything.

It always makes you nervous, knowing he's thinking but not knowing what it's about. Is it about you? Is he thinking about the shotgun thing? Or something else? Does he want to? Probably not. But what if? What if he's been just as serious as you this whole time and he's been too afraid to say so? But he's not afraid of anything, least of all speaking what's on his mind.

You notice his lips moving and snap out of it in time to hear him say, "-or not?" You glance down and he's holding the bowl back out to you. He's looking at you like you're sick so you grin and take the piece.

"'S gotta be almost cashed by now, yeah?" you ask, poking into the blackening weed with your lighter. He knows you already know the answer so he doesn't say anything. You take the last hit and a half and flop back onto your bed, blowing smoke at the ceiling.

He lays down next to you, a little more gracefully, to stare at the ceiling as well. Your stomach rumbles and he laughs again but neither of you say anything else. You watch the smoke waft through the room in rolls, trapped, baking you. You're so high you can feel it in your toes.

You scoot your hand to the side, slowly making the short way across the sheets to Craig's hand. You touch it and he doesn't say anything, so you take that to mean he doesn't care.

You trace it with your fingertips, feeling his skin, before pressing the palm of your hand to the top of his. He's warm and it makes you smile for some reason.

You move your hand up his wrist trailing light, broken patterns and smoothing the pads of your fingers over his arm. His skin goose bumps under your touch and you shiver a little knowing he can feel you just as sharply as you can feel him.

You look up to his face and his eyes are closed, his breathing even. His cheeks are rosy and you can see how relaxed he is.

You realize you're staring and pull your hand back to yourself, a little embarrassed even though there's no way he could know what you were thinking.

"No, keep touching me, it feels good," he says. Your heart skips a second at the request, half because you weren't expecting him to talk and half because he wants you to keep touching him.

You hesitate a second before breathing out a, "Yeah, okay." This will be fine, you'll be fine, what could go wrong.

You sit up a little, propping yourself on your elbow, and reach back toward your best bro. You touch his arm again and he sighs. You chew on your lip and avoid looking at his face as you make your way up to his shoulder. You decide to go over his t-shirt, rather than under, despite what you're thinking.

Be calm, Kenny, be calm.

You touch past his shoulder, over to his collar bones. You trace your hand over his sternum and bite back a breath feeling his chest move. Maybe this isn't a good idea.

You trail your way back up, walking your fingers, dragging them, touching him any way your hand so chooses to do. Your palm smoothes up to his neck, your fingers curling around the bend, and a shiver runs through him. You can feel his pulse there and he's warm, so warm, and you want to kiss him but you know you can't.

He sits up suddenly and your hand falls back to your side. You wonder for a moment if you got too weird for him but then he reaches behind his head and starts to pull off his shirt. You can't help but to stare, and it seems like it happens in slow motion as see his shirt slide off the bed.

He lays back down on his stomach, his arms under his head, and he sighs again, eyes still closed. You blink a few times, wondering if he wants you to stop or not, before he says, "Keep touching me."

He doesn't have to tell you twice, fuck.

You move your body and straddle his hips, settling into a comfortable spot before letting your eyes roll over his back. You stare for what you realize is a few too many seconds, watching him just breathe, his muscles moving under his skin, every detail, you love it.

You reach your hands back down to his shoulder blades. You make your way across his back, down his spine, back up again, all over, and again. You touch him everywhere.

The dry friction of your hands on his skin makes you think you should get some lotion, but he doesn't seem to care, so there's no way you're going to leave this exact spot.

You lose yourself in the motions, focusing on touching, just touching, and after a while a voice breaks you out of your trance.

"You're hard," he says.

You hadn't even noticed, but you don't care. "Yeah," you say, not missing a beat. He goes quiet for a few moments as you continue to massage into his back.

He shifts so you stop. Maybe he's done. He shifts some more and turns himself around beneath you, now facing you. He nudges his hips up into yours and you can feel that he's hard too.

Your face heats up and you suddenly feel a little overwhelmed and, "Oh," is all you can say.

He sits up slowly and pulls the shirt from your body. Before you can even think of something to say, he's cupping one side of your neck and kissing the other. You whine as you drop your head back, pressing yourself closer to him. Those lips against your throat feel almost as good as  _those teeth do_.

You start to absently rock your hips, grinding slow enough to even make yourself feel needy. "Craig," you say. You can barely recognize your own voice through the haze in your mind and the overwhelming lust pulsing through you.

He hums in response before bringing his head up and kissing you. Your eyes finally flutter closed and you pour yourself into the kiss. You can't take it anymore, you need him and you need him now.

You fumble with your zipper and his and get them open as quickly as you can. Soon you've got your cock griped against his and you can't help the moan the pours from your mouth and into his. You can barely think through the cloud in your head and all you can do is feel and god does it feel  _good_. You've never felt better in your life.

You lose what's happening to the ecstasy, losing track of time and everything else and before you know it you're both a mess and lying in a heap on your bed. He's breathing heavily in your ear and you smile. That was so much fun.

You shiver and muster the energy to sit up long enough to find your blanket. You wrap it around yourself and Craig takes some too. You open your mouth to say something but when you look up he's asleep. Your smile softens and your high is mixing with your afterglow and you're suddenly really fucking tired.

Your head hits the pillow next to his and you're asleep within minutes.


End file.
